


Hard edges

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM Scene, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Dom Jack Crawford, Don’t copy to another site, Humiliation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Missing scene from Potage, Non-Sexual Kink, Not Beta Read, Sub Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 21:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18582667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Will Graham had been anticipating an admonishment for his difficult temperament, yet couldn’t find an adequate person that would reprimand him the way Will ached for. Inspired by that terrible moment in Potage, both disturbing and arousing, minus Alana.Written for Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive’s #JustFuckMeUp





	Hard edges

  
  


“It isn’t very smart to needle a guy who teaches about how to get away with murder for a living,” Mr Crawford read aloud from his computer monitor, strategically positioned between them in an implicit statement of advantage. Tired-looking and mildly disbelieving, he leveled Will with a reproachful stare. “You know I’m anything but impressed with your attitude, Graham, but what really astonishes me,” he continued, diverting his attention on Will’s finely dressed companion, sitting cross-legged by his side, silent and pristine, “is that you were there with him and let those words come out of his mouth.”

Suppressing the instinct to fidget on his spot, Will pointedly kept his gaze lowered, demurely avoiding those dark, penetrating eyes he knew were subtly peering at his prickling neck.

“I trust Will to speak for himself,” came the sharp, assertive voice of Sir, as Will endeavoured to address Hannibal when he found himself immersed in their own performances.

“Evidently you shouldn’t,” Mr Crawford sentenced, which sent an awkward shiver down his spine. The thick stasis in the room was such that Will was positive the three of them were equally aware of his palpable discomfort.

“Shouldn’t I?” Sir enquired, addressing Will in turn. Tone displeased, designed to instill misery. Will didn’t offer a justification.

It was the setting they had agreed upon. A fictional autoritative figure scolding Will, bestowing upon him a sense of dread, which he oh-so-secretly craved, yet punctually denied himself. His source of stability was to bear witness of his reprimand, watchful and attentive, to enhange his shame. To remind Will his misbehaving would reflect on his handler in a negative way, for having failed to treat him with the adequate firmness.

Although Will hadn’t been particularly appreciative of the premises, which verted too insistently on control issues for his taste, he could concur that sharing the burden of his own insolence was in fact sorting an effect on him. It shouldn’t, Will didn’t know or didn’t want to investigate the reasons behind this dirty little secret of his, but the umiliation was messing with him, was affecting him in ways he couldn’t otherwise achieve, which was the point all along. Destabilization in a controlled environment, Hannibal had explained. An exercise to be exploited.

“Unable to refrain from talking back to an invadent journalist in such an unbecoming manner,” Sir considered, pensive. “I wonder what else would manage that sharp tongue left unsupervised.”

His polite modesty in front of Will’s indecorous mess, of his talent for talking back, left Will bewildered, uncomfortably giddy. Appreciated like a precious stone yet to fit in an elaborate jewel. Yet to be smoothed of its hard edges.

When he had accepted Sir’s unexpected proposal for a temporary addition in their encounter, there hadn’t been much questioning from Will. His would be the last word in whatsoever setting they conjured, Sir granted, but never had Will felt in charge, only well taken care of, deliciously embraced in between finction and reality. Almost to a fault.

Will took a mental note to warn Sir from investigating his past interview, in particular those involving Freddie Lounds and her tasteless tabloid. Will appreciated his investment, but he felt no compunction to blur the line any further.

“I’m sure you know some measures must be taken in that regard, Dr Lecter,” Mr Crawford suggested. He was good, Will observed. Aggressive stance, solid ground. Inspiring a sense of steadiness, entirely different from Sir and his almost disturbing eye for the details.

Will knew they were indulging in harmless roleplay, knew they were unlikely to address sexual matters anytime soon if ever at all, but assisting in utter impotence to the conversation Sir was holding with his distinguished colleague, whom Will had no idea how had been selected for their unusual scenario, let it happen as if he wasn’t even in the room, gave Will an embarassing sense of guilt. The difficult child finding redemption in his school principal’s office, scolded for his behaviour before his considerate tutor. Liberation in his acknowledgment.

Even better, Will wasn’t allowed to speak, if not in traffic light terms.

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is not anyone’s cup of tea, shattered or not, it wasn’t mine either, but this fest is all about uncomfortable themes, and humiliation is mine. Here are my post [on Tumblr](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/184453893189/) and [on Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/618381) if you’d like to share.


End file.
